melt their crowns

kings should melt their crowns

and offer you the profits,

your beauty is such.

one thousand slaves ought be at your

every beck and call

and the skies

ought timidly propose

with stars as diamonds,

one-by-one,

skylight solitaires to adorn your fingers every day

for the rest of your life.

it would be a true travesty to learn

that you are not aware of the light

that burns within you,

a lantern aglow,

your good heart --

or that no one has ever told you so.

if not, heed this:

i think you are exquisite

and perhaps it's not fair

to raise you up on my pedestal

at world's display

while everyone else looks on, neglected,

but if you even knew of your magnificence

you would not scold me

for being rash and partial.

i'm ever grateful

that i found you among thieves

but caught you Robin Hood-ing instead;

and perhaps you're thought unholy

by vagabonds and liars --

oh, it can't happen here

in my distinct line of sight.

it's rather agonizing

to think at long last

how good you are.

it's painful, how your thoughts

are never with yourself.

all i can ever pray for the world

is that your spirit

multiplied

into the millions

would be reason enough

to not ever go to war.

and were the world mine

you'd rule

after all other regimes

had done as i requested

and yielded to you,

making every effort to melt their crowns

in the process,

attempting to add some sort of afterthought

to someone already filled to the brim with worth.

01.2010